


Fever Dreams

by idelthoughts



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Conduit Fic, F/M, M/M, Multi, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shore leave is just another battle, but least he has Bush at his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Horatio's service as junior lieutenant under Bush, before his promotion to commander, during some unidentified day of shore leave. The characterizations and details straddle the A&E movie!verse and book!verse. But in short: whores, and drink and a night that is sure to make for a complicated day after.
> 
> Thank you to [bittergreens](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bittergreens) for the beta and the incredibly supportive feedback!

Two tin mugs slammed down on the oak table, sloshing ale across the surface and startling Horatio. He lifted his heavy head and peered up.

Bush pushed one of the mugs into his hand and said something that was lost in the tavern’s din. Horatio nodded anyway, because agreeing was usually the safest choice, and swayed in his seat as he did. Too much drink had brought the sea ashore with him; the overlapping voices, songs, and laughter were the roar of a gale, a rolling white noise that faded into the background, and the floor heaved beneath him.

Bush grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a shake, his face ruddy with a grin stretching ear to ear. “Drink up, man! The night’s young!”

Seeing Bush grinning was an unnatural sight, like seeing a ferocious bear mincing on hind legs. Horatio laughed at the thought, but his self-conscious mind quickly rose to chastise him for the undignified, silly sound. He took a deep draught of ale to shut himself up, as well as the critical voice in his head. He didn’t like being drunk, normally. He already had to contend with long, gangly limbs that he could never keep track of, and some days it was all he could do not to trip over his own feet. He’d grown in the years at sea, his trousers perpetually distancing themselves from his ankles, and even his new uniform could not hide his spider-like form. Between a clumsy body and a racing mind that wouldn’t rest, he needed all his self-control not to embarrass himself on a daily basis. 

Bush thumped his own cup back down on the table and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “God, that’s better than the watered down piss on Renown.”

“I’ve never known you—” he started, slurring badly. He frowned, silently mouthing ‘never known’ a few times until he was satisfied that he’d mastered it, and tried again. “I’ve never know you to complain about any drink put your way.”

“There’s no ship yet that can match a decent pint,” Bush said, and drained a third of his mug. He seemed able to drink and drink, like a sponge in the desert, with only a flushed face and a boisterous good will to show for it. None of Horatio’s inept slurring and stumbling. He satisfied himself in remembering that while he could never match the stout fellow drink for drink, he could run circles around Bush in a test of wits. 

But he was too drunk to even do that, at this point. A toast to the King, then a toast to fallen comrades, to their ship, to good mates at your side—toast after toast until they’d run out of things to toast and merely raised their glasses with loud voices and bleating laughs, Horatio trying to echo Bush and his steady form, slipping easily into companionable chatter and tales of derring-do. 

In retrospect, he’d run his mouth all night like a twittering fool. God knew what Bush thought of him by now.

Horatio grunted into his cup, his mood turning sullen and sour. He should leave Bush to his frivolities and head back to their lodgings. Let the man drink his fill while he cleared his head. He put his cup down and frowned at Bush, whose attention was drawn away by something behind Horatio. He swivelled around to see what Bush was looking at.

Without warning, a cloud of lace and perfume and bare cleavage filled his lap. Soft brown curls tickled his nose and obscured his vision, and he pulled back until a face swam into focus. 

“You gentlemen are merry, tonight,” said the tavern girl. She shifted on Horatio’s lap and his arms went about her to steady her. When she smiled he could see the gap between her front teeth, and her rouged cheeks and lips were bright against pale skin. “Aren’t you sweet?”

Her heavy perfume filled his nose and fogged his head further. He didn’t know what to say, and opted for silence, hoping she took it for confidence. 

“Him? A hardened officer, madam!” Bush grinned at Horatio. “Bathed in Spanish blood. The scourge of the Channel!” 

She laughed like Bush had told a most clever joke and wrapped an arm around Horatio’s shoulders, pushing her breasts so near he could bury his face in them if he chose.

She tweaked the pristine lapel of the uniform jacket he’d bought earlier in the day to replace its tight, worn predecessor. “Soon as you came in, I couldn’t help noticing what a fine looking officer you was,” she said. “You and your friend, fine gentlemen, indeed.”

The pretty girls had an eye for the officers with money to spend, and there’d been many lurid stories shared over the wardroom table, tales of prize money in and out of their pockets fast enough to scorch the fabric. But in three long years at sea, his brief snatches of time ashore amounted to no more than a handful of days put together, and Horatio hadn’t had the opportunity to find out himself. 

Bush had a hand clamped over his mouth in a very poor attempt to not laugh outright at Horatio’s discomfiture. No help from that quarter, then. He looked back to the woman. She had lovely brown eyes darkened with kohl, her age impossible to tell behind the paint and frippery.

“I hope you don’t mind me joining you.” She fluttered long, darkened lashes as she fiddled with a button. She leaned close to his cheek to speak, a conspirator pouring secrets in his ear. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Her voice and the touch of breath against his ear and her breasts pushed against him were too much. Had a woman ever touched him so? He couldn’t remember a time. He squirmed in his seat and she smiled, expecting a rejoinder. He had no idea what to say.

“I—ah, that is to say, Miss—“ he mumbled, failing to find anything further to add. He glanced to Bush with helpless desperation, ditching pride in favour of rescue. 

At that bewildered look, Bush lost his composure. He howled with laughter and pounded a fist on his knee, his body doubling over in mirth. The girl on Horatio’s lap giggled too. Horatio felt sick.

She pouted prettily at Bush, stroking Horatio’s hair at the same time in a way that made his head spin. “Oh now sir, don’t tease the poor lamb.” She put a finger under Horatio’s chin and tilted his head up. He watched her lips forming words, and it took him a while to put the shapes and sounds together. 

“What do you say, sir? Come upstairs with me?” 

His stomach churned. Bush was still watching the whole proceeding with far too much interest. 

“Oh, don’t worry about your mate, sir. I have a most handsome friend who would be happy to entertain him while we get to know each other.” 

She moved her hips and ground down against him. He sucked in a deep breath, and her heavy perfume made him dizzy. His head sagged and his cheek brushed the rounded top of her breasts, and when she moved again his moan was muffled in her bosom.

It took him a second to register the sound, another to realize he was the one who’d made it, and another to remember where he was. He looked up. A plump woman in a red dress had materialized and had her arms about Bush, but he was still intent on Horatio. 

He must be making a spectacle of himself. Anxiety trilled sharp and loud in his swirling head, bells clanging and screaming at him. He pulled away from the girl, but he moved too fast and the world lurched and swayed. His stomach twisted and a cold sweat coated his brow.

The woman scrambled up and away from him as he turned pale. He tried to mumble an apology, but his stomach was rebelling, his mouth watering as too much drink caught up with him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on regaining his equilibrium, but the room spun in the darkness and he put his hands to his face to try to stop it.

“Best take your mate for a walk, love.”

“Pardon us, ladies.”

Horatio groaned in distress as strong hands grabbed him under the arms and heaved him up out of his chair. They made it outside in time for him to empty the contents of his stomach into the gutter while Bush held him upright, strong and solid and dependable. It was endless misery as his stomach pumped until it was dry. 

Afterward, Bush guided him to lean against the filthy wall of the Portsmouth tavern, gave him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and loosened his stock for him. Horatio could not reconcile the bellowing, hardened lieutenant playing nursemaid with such gentle solicitation. Shame and embarrassment rose to take place of the nausea. He knew Bush was watching him, but he couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, knowing that he’d think much less of his junior lieutenant after watching him humiliate himself. Frightened of a woman and overwhelmed by drink, like a green midshipman. Damn his feeble constitution. 

He was mustering up some words to make his excuses to leave when Bush looped an arm in his.

“Come on, next port.” Bush pulled him upright. 

“I don’t—“

“There,” Bush interrupted. He pointed down the cobblestone street crowded with drunks and carousers. “The Rose and Hart. Good food. I overheard the mids talking about it.”

Horatio finally worked up the courage to look at Bush, and was met with an innocent smile. He was unreasonably irritated that Bush expressed no reaction at all to his public humiliation. He behaved as though they had merely decided to find another venue for their celebrations. 

“God damn your eyes,” he growled. 

“And damn your own, Mr. Hornblower,” Bush returned, laughing at his surly junior and pulling him onward. 

He resisted, meaning to stand his ground, but his foot slipped on the uneven cobblestone and he yelped and grabbed onto Bush to keep from falling. Horatio caught hold of the lapels of his uniform and Bush’s eyes bulged in alarm as they staggered, bumping against the wall before righting themselves and avoiding a messy landing in the Portsmouth gutter.

Bush met his gaze, and he looked so flustered and put off that Horatio started to giggle. Bush snorted, and before long they were both laughing so hard his abused stomach hurt.

“Thank you,” he mustered at last, once they’d caught their breath.

Bush dismissed his thanks with a lofty wave and a grin, and offered Horatio his elbow. They linked arms and teetered on toward the Rose and Hart, leaving half his pay sicked up on the filthy street behind them.

***

The last of the bangers and mash disappeared off his plate. The rich food weighed his belly down—it had been an indulgence, real sausages, though probably the tavern owner had cut it with suspect meat as well as inflating his prices for the naval officers on shore leave. No matter, he was the better for some good food, and some of his senses were returning to him.

The crowded tavern was even more raucous than the last, as the evening wore on and drink flowed free. Horatio was pleased to see that despite Bush’s assertion that the midshipmen had recommended this place, there were very few seamen present, and none of the Renown officers. He leaned back in his chair, content, watching Bush wipe gravy off his plate with the last scrap of bread, using such care that the plate took on a pristine shine his boots would envy.

Bush licked a bit of gravy off his fingers, measuring the crowd with careful attention. At length he gestured with a nod of his head. “How about that one?”

Horatio followed his gaze. A girl with an impressive round rear that swayed below a narrow waist was working her way through the crowd. She teased and flirted with the men, eyes sharp, scanning for her next customer. Horatio grimaced. Of course Bush’s thoughts were still on women.

His plate was empty, so he took another drink of thick ale to forestall his answer, rolling it over his tongue. He’d willingly take cannon fire and the spray of grape shot before he faced another woman tonight. But he was a young man still, and interest piqued was not easily forgotten, no matter how much he tried to will it away. He swallowed and shook his head.

“No? A blond, then?” 

Bush dragged his chair around next to him to better scan the tavern together. Horatio was pleased to see him stumble, grown clumsy at last. Bush draped a companionable arm about him and settled a hand at the nape of his neck. 

“Or that one.” He was near, voice a low rumble. Bush squeezed the back of his neck and directed Horatio’s attention. “I’d wager she’d scream.” 

Horatio was sensitized to any touch now, and even the innocent, friendly gesture made him itch and grow hot. He suspected he was being teased, and made a feeble attempt at a laugh. “Bush, enough.”

“If you toss her skirts, take her from behind.” 

His throat closed. The blunt, crass words filled his ear and shot through his brain like creeping vines as he stared at the woman. Her long blond hair was drawn up, and pink flowers that matched the frills at her cleavage and hips dotted the artful twists. Bush’s fingers were warm on the back of his neck where they touched his skin above his loosened stock, keeping his attention focused forward. 

“Hard and fast, like.”

Bush’s voice was hoarse and hypnotic. Horatio closed his eyes and drank fast and deep from his cup. When Bush’s fingers shifted on his neck, he shivered. He caught on the image of the girl bent before him, crying out as he moved in her—

“Oh, she’d beg for it.” 

—then again as he dug fingers into her hips, tugging the long hair, biting at her neck and shoulder as he rutted. His fingers clenched his tin mug, disturbed by the violence of his thoughts, and how easily they rose when Bush spoke. It was so swift, a lust like the haze that overtook him in battle; a blindness that drove his sword on as he slashed at the enemy, thirsting for blood and victory, emptying his mind of anything but thoughtless, animal passion. He was dizzy with drink and arousal. 

“Perhaps we should go,” Horatio said.

Bush squeezed the nape of his neck hard, giving him a shake as he made a disapproving sound. Horatio glowered at Bush, but the lieutenant was full of impatience and blithely ignorant of Horatio’s dangerous mood.

“You’re stiff as a mast, man. We need to find you a woman.” He was close enough for Horatio to feel the tickle of Bush’s wild hair against his cheek, and he glanced down to the tenting front of his breeches. Horatio blushed hot and straightened in his seat, embarrassment and anger fighting for primary place. He glared at Bush again, furious and cutting words queueing on his tongue.

Before he could loose them, Bush used Horatio’s shoulder to lever himself up and swayed on his feet. “I need the head. I’ll return.” He retreated at some speed, disappearing between tables towards the back of the tavern. 

Horatio stammered an objection but it was too late, he was gone. He felt bereft at the abrupt loss of Bush at his side, his bitter bile denied an outlet. He was too keyed up to calm himself and was incensed at Bush for his goading. He should catch him up and drag him outside; challenge him, prod him into a fight, punch and thrash until he was spent. Anything to dispel the crawling anxiety upon him.

He went to take another drink and found his cup empty. He dropped it on the table in disgust, drumming his fingers on sticky, pockmarked wood, devising and editing his words for swiftest effect, sharpening the weapon that would pierce Bush and deflate his damnable invasive care. 

But minutes passed without any sign of Bush, and soon restlessness spurred him to take physical action of any kind. He abandoned their table and made his way to the bar to get another round for them, jostling through the crowd to make his order. He got two glasses, throwing a coin on the bar and turning back to scan for Bush, keen for his return.

“A fine officer like yourself shouldn’t be without companionship on such a night.”

He turned. The blond tavern girl Bush had pointed out to him from before had sidled up to him, and he cursed internally. A single loose twist of hair tickled her bare shoulders, and he followed the line down to where her cleavage, rounded above her corset, was rising and falling with each breath. He stared, wondering how clothing could defy gravity in such ways. It took a moment before he realized a response was called for.

“My friend is with me.” He shook his head, trying not to think of his twisted desires brought to life in Bush’s low tones and the fury that still rolled in his gut like a trapped animal. 

Her blue eyes were wide with exaggerated innocence. “Perhaps he has gotten lost?”

Horatio smiled reluctantly, manners rising by long habit. “Perhaps he has, Miss—”

“Mary." She seemed delighted by his gentlemanly response, and he cringed. How badly she was misled about his nature. 

“Might we keep company until he finds you again?” When Horatio did not respond, Mary worked her way between his extended arms which were raised high to keep the ales from spilling among the jostling patrons. She placed her hands on his hips and brushed up against him, waiting for him to answer.

Tightly wound as he was, her invasion set his heart pounding anew. He cleared his throat. “I am sure he—“

She pulled him down into a kiss and stoppered his prevarication. He tasted whiskey and the waxy flavour of her lip paint as she kissed him, fingers in his hair and body moving against him. He was dazed, half aware that he was standing with hands full of ale cups, surrounded by people, while she began things that should only happen behind closed doors, but he couldn’t seem to find the will to stop it.

He was near to dropping the glasses to throw his arms about her when she broke the kiss. He felt like he was swimming up from the bottom of the sea. She snuck a hand between them, and Horatio gasped as she cupped him and gave a gentle squeeze. His cock twitched hard against her hand.

“Guinea for my time,” she said, squeezing again.

A guinea. The talk of money cut through him. That was more than he had in his purse all together, including what he’d set aside for lodging tonight. “Oh,” he said stupidly.

The ineloquent response must have immediately explained his situation, and she breathed a little sigh of disappointment. She dropped her hand and stepped back. 

She didn’t have far to go before she bumped into a solid body behind her. Bush reached an arm around her and plucked an ale glass from Horatio’s numb fingers to take a hearty swig. He wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist and pulled her close against him. She squealed, making a show of the struggle, but she was willing to play the game and soon relaxed back into his embrace.

“There you are, Horatio!” Bush said, his voice gruff and loud with careless cheer. He raised an eyebrow at Horatio, who stood frozen.

Mary twisted her head around to see him, smile wide. “And who might you be, sir?” 

“William,” Bush said, planting a wet kiss on Mary’s shoulder that made her giggle and shriek in mock protest. “Here to rescue my poor fellow lieutenant from your wiles.” 

“I see.” She tipped her head back to smile at Bush. “I’m afraid your poor lieutenant’s purse doesn’t match his other fine attributes.” She reached behind her and did something that made Bush’s eyelids flutter. Bush growled and dipped his head to her neck again, mouthing at the pale skin.

Horatio watched the scene before him like he was miles away from it, spying through a glass. He managed to slug back his drink, draining the cup and fumbling behind him to drop it on the bar top. Nervous laughter pushed its way up out of him, perversity making him giggle under the stress of his conflicting desires.

“Hornblower!” Bush roared at him, with the attitude of someone who had called out more than once.

He bit down on his crazed laughter and snapped upright, as though called to attention on deck. “Yes!”

Mary laughed, a pleasant sound, while Bush eyed him. Was there a challenge in that look? Horatio’s attention was drawn down to Bush’s hand, which wandered free across Mary’s front, tracing lines under the curves of her breasts, and then down her belly and back again. “I think between us, we can make the evening profitable for the young lady.”

Horatio shook his head, failing to pick up on Bush’s meaning. The ale was making him dizzy again, and he felt stupid and slow.

Mary laughed again and reached forward to grab his hand. “Come with me, gentlemen.” 

He followed behind her, Bush beside him trailing from her other hand, and suddenly it all became clear. 

Bush bumped a hip against him. “Relax.”

“I am,” he snapped, and Bush raised an eyebrow at him.

Mary smiled at him over her shoulder as she pulled them along, and with effort he smiled back. He hoped it looked confident and rakish, and not the terrified grimace he feared it was. Meanwhile, Bush watched her swaying upstairs ahead of them with single-minded focus. How could he be so calm!

“We are going to, ah—” Horatio’s words failed him. He wasn’t sure he could even make himself use any of the words he’d heard bandied about the wardroom.

“Yes.” The short answer had the inevitable weight of law to it. Bush put a hand low on his back and spurred him on.

Simple as that, then. Horatio’s heart was pounding with feelings too muddled to identify. He wished he had Bush’s uncomplicated view on the matter. His mind tried to caper around the logistics of what he was about to launch into, but his thoughts where a white, frantic blur. He had no plans to draw, no flash of inspiration to seize on. 

And then, there was no more time. Mary was pulling them into a small room with a large bed, two smoking tallows, and little else. Horatio twisted around as she shut the door. It was as though a noose were tightening around his neck. He was glad for Bush at his side. A dependable man to have with you in battle, he thought, giddy, and the laughter threatened to escape again. 

“Coins on the table.”

She gestured toward the little table by the bed with her chin, hands on hips. Bush grabbed Horatio by the arm and pulled him over.

“Give me your purse.” Bush held out his hand.

Horatio fumbled for it and gave it to him. Bush pulled out coins from it to match the coins in his hand, and after a bit of counting he dropped them on the table.

At the clink of metal, Mary sauntered toward them. “Thank you, sirs. Worth it, I promise you.”

After a glance at Bush, she shifted her full attention to Horatio. She stepped toward him and started to undo the buttons on his coat. She slid her hands into the jacket and pushed it open. Her hands were so warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, one of the worn old linens he’d patched time and again. A new uniform coat and breeches had been necessary, but his linens would have to last a while yet. He was embarrassed to be seen in his tatty shirt, but she brushed over his nipples and the little bolt of lightning pleasure that sent to his groin jerked him out of his thoughts. 

She pulled him down for a kiss, nudging and nibbling at his mouth until he opened it and kissed her deeply. He barely noticed Bush slide the coat off his shoulders.

After a time Mary pulled back from him, and Horatio opened his eyes to see her head tipped back, mouth wet and open, neck exposed. Bush was close over Mary’s shoulder. He had taken off his own coat and moved behind her to trap her body between them, and his arms wrapped around to fondle her breasts. Horatio watched in fascination as Bush’s hard, calloused hands covered the soft skin. Heavy breath moved the air against Horatio’s cheek, smelling of sour ale.

Pulling at lacings and working down her chemise and corset, Bush exposed Mary before him. She had closed her eyes and leaned her head back on Bush’s shoulder, and he nuzzled her cheek as he undressed her, glancing up at Horatio now and again. Hands cupped her breasts; caressing, lifting, weighing, fingers pinching each nipple and then moving away to stroke her belly, her chest, her neck. He watched the process carefully, mapping the movements.

Tentatively, Horatio lifted a hand and touched the side of Mary’s breast. Soft and pliant, like her cheek. He followed the curve, then up to find the alert nipple standing up, darker than the rest of her skin. Mary gasped and he pulled his hand back, uncertain.

“Don’t stop,” Bush ordered.

Mary hummed an agreement, and he returned his hand, this time to the other breast. He did the same again, and he smiled, pleased with himself. He looked up at Bush and was surprised by his intensity.

Bush cupped her breasts and lifted them to pert attention. “Use your mouth.”

Horatio was still unsteady on his feet, and his gangly height worked against him in this endeavour. He ended up bracing himself with one hand on Bush’s shoulder and the other cupping Mary’s waist to let him lean down without toppling over. He closed his lips around one nipple, giving a gentle suck, then licking it with his tongue. Mary sighed, and he shifted to the other breast, doing the same again. He straightened and knocked into Mary, setting off a cascade of giggles as the three of them jostled to keep their footing while all sandwiched together. His hand was trapped between Mary and Bush, and Bush’s stomach flexed as he laughed. 

He wasn’t prepared at all when Mary reached down and undid the laces on his breeches, and he pulled back a space to watch as she worked with impossible swiftness. In a single smooth movement she tugged his breeches and smalls to his knees, took a firm grip on his cock and slid her mouth over it without ceremony.

“Oh my god.” His eyes flew open wide. He grabbed Bush by both shoulders to keep from falling over. 

God, the pleasure radiating from the wet, tight heat moving over his cock. Bush was staring at him, staring at his mouth, expression glazed with drink. Horatio could not speak, nor look away, held in place by hot slickness; agony to bear, and yet he hoped it would never stop. To prevent the whine threatening to escape him he dug his fingers into Bush until the skin went white, and Bush took hold of his thin wrists. Just as his eyes were starting to roll back in his head, cool air hit his skin, and Mary’s mouth was gone.

His muscles unclenched and he panted for air, sagging, shivering as Mary’s blond hair brushed his sensitive skin, his hands heavy on Bush’s shoulders for support. After a moment, Bush groaned heavily and widened his stance. Mary was giving Bush the same treatment. He watched her head bob, her movements obscured by the hanging tails of Bush’s shirt, sometimes pulling back enough that the back of her head brushed against his reddened cock, and it would twitch and pulse. 

It was Horatio’s turn to watch as Bush’s face went slack with unguarded pleasure. It was unbearably intimate, seeing him like this. Each sensation played out on Bush’s expressive features. He was vulnerable now, no longer the impervious mountain, but a weak man like Horatio himself, brought low by a woman licking and sucking at him until he shivered and his breath rasped, clutching Horatio’s wrists tightly. Something akin to revenge, a flush of power, radiated through Horatio’s chest, fueled by an edge of desperation and need. 

How did each movement corresponded to each twitch and sigh? If he held Mary’s head, he could push and pull and direct the movement that was affecting Bush so. Perhaps he could control each twitching muscle and heavy breath, make a scientific study of each reaction, to see if he might make Bush cry out as he’d suggested Mary would. Horatio cleared his dry throat, heart pounding, fingernails digging into the sweaty, hot flesh over strong muscle as Bush leaned into his hold for support.

Bush tensed, breath turning ragged, and he rolled his head forward, dropping a hand on Mary’s head. “Stop, God help me, stop.” 

Mary’s mouth made a popping noise as she pulled off him and stood up, filling the dangerous empty space between them. She turned to face Horatio, kissing him again and he released Bush to wrap his arms around her. Her mouth was a salty and musky. The taste of Bush, he thought. Or both of them together.

She was pressing him back and he stumbled, hampered by the breeches around his knees, and spun his arms as he lost his balance and fell backward. He landed on the bed and Mary was over him in an instant, laughing at his graceless descent. She hovered over him on hands and knees, and then gave Bush an inviting look over her shoulder.

Bush kicked off boots and trousers in comical haste and positioned himself behind her, white shirt hanging to drape over her back like a fan. His legs framed Horatio’s where they trailed off the edge of the bed, and Mary ground herself back against Bush as he got a grip on her hips, and without ceremony gave a great shove into her. 

Mary’s breasts bounced as Bush slammed against her, and she made little panting cries with each thrust. Horatio stroked her hair back from her face, fascinated by her red swollen lips and the sound of slapping skin. Behind her, Bush was the picture of determination as he thrust into her, his knees brushing against Horatio’s thighs with each move. He caught Horatio’s eye and his rhythm faltered, and then with clenched teeth his stopped his hips. He gulped a breath and staggered back, cock bobbing in the air like a flag from beneath his shirt, gleaming wet. 

Mary rocked forward to meet Horatio’s lips and melted against him, and he kissed her with frantic desperation. She wriggled against him, and then with one hot and wet slide he was in her. He thrust up without any conscious thought, hands coming to hold her backside tight to him, for he had no leverage with his legs dangling so over the side of the bed. 

Her hips were writhing, rocking him in and out, and he thought he would die from the incredible, satisfying pleasure that came with every slide. She sat up, riding him, reaching back to grab Bush by the hand and pull him to the bed.

The bed creaked under the strain as Bush toppled onto it next to him, and he settled himself shoulder to shoulder with Horatio, a thin sliver of space between them. With one hand she took hold of Bush’s cock and stroked it while she bounced on top of Horatio, and Bush cut loose with a filthy curse that fueled the electric sensation already burning through him. 

Bush reached over to put a hand on Mary’s belly, and then down to her dark thatch of hair. His knuckles brushed against Horatio’s groin as he rubbed against Mary, small little circles that made her moan in a way he hadn’t yet heard. The feel of Bush’s hand brushing against him while Mary panted so, and him sliding into her deep enough that his balls slapped against her rear—he didn’t know if he could take more of this. His hands flailed, one gripping the bedding, the other connecting with Bush’s side, the hard flexing muscle burning hot against his hand. 

Mary whimpered and shuddered, and she pulsed around him. He was so close, and Bush had stopped rubbing at Mary, and now his hand rested low across Horatio’s belly. Mary was still moving on him, her hand pulling on William’s cock, making his fingers convulse and stroke Horatio’s skin with tiny twitching movements. He was swollen to bursting, straining, desperate. It wasn’t near enough. He needed more.

Reaching up, he pulled Mary close to him and rolled them. She locked her heels at his back, and he thrust into her again with a grunt as she cried out, head thrown back. He slammed in again, and again, driven on by her cries. He was unreasoning with animalistic desire and fury, blind to anything but the need to possess, consume, own.

She had hold of Bush again, pulling at him hard and fast with every one of Horatio’s thrusts, and Horatio shifted his head to look at Bush, who was rigid and desperate, looking back helplessly. He growled, slamming harder, daring Bush to watch, the bed creaking with his violent efforts. Bush cried out hoarsely and clutched at Horatio’s bicep with enough force to hurt, and a wet warmth spattered his hip. Horatio grit his teeth and thrust again, agonizing pleasure swelling to impossible proportions until he let loose a guttural cry, his voice ugly and unrecognizable, and buried himself deep and hard, emptying himself without end. 

He collapsed, trying to collect his shattered mind, gasping for air. 

It wasn’t until Mary wiggled beneath him and tugged at his hand that he realized he’d grabbed firm hold of her hair and held it in a tangled, painful grip, his full weight resting on her. He mumbled an apology and released her and rolled off to collapse on the bed. Bush lay on the other side of her. The air was cool on his sweaty skin and he stared at the sooty ceiling above the bed, thoughts blank.

Mary slid off the bed and shimmied back into her clothes. Horatio lifted his head and watched as she tied her laces and straightened her hair with efficient, practiced movements. He wondered if he had hurt her. A tarnished mirror hung on the wall and she leaned close to it and dabbed at her face, adding some colour from the little pots that sat on the shelf below. 

When she was done, she pocketed the coins from the table and turned back to them, hands on hips. She shook her head at him, attitude almost maternal, and so unlike her earlier coquettish mien. “You are a naughty one.” She winked, taking the sting from the slight reproof. Then she came near and gave Bush a smack on his bare thigh. “Thanks for that, you dirty bugger.”

“Sod off,” Bush grumbled with good nature. 

Horatio gave Mary a mockery of a salute as she waved goodbye and sauntered out the door, closing it again behind her. He dropped his head back on the bed, exhausted and mercifully calm.

“Better?” Bush asked. 

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure he had any mental power left for concern. 

“Good.” Bush wiped sweat from his brow and sighed. He rolled his head toward Horatio, examining him. He reached over and pushed back a curl that had stuck to his forehead. 

The brush reminded him of those same knuckles against his groin as Bush rubbed against Mary, and his cock pulsed with a pleasant aftershock. He was both allured and frightened by the feeling. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t like things that defied his understanding. 

He caught Bush by the wrist, stilling his hand. Bush tried to pull his hand back, but Horatio squeezed tighter and held him still, perversely satisfied when Bush grimaced in his harsh grip, brow furrowed and mouth tight with confusion. He waited for an objection, but Bush said nothing. 

He wondered what else Bush would let him do before he would protest. His mind wandered down dark alleys as Bush waited, features smoothing out, becoming passive in his hold, and the flush of power returned to him, creeping and spreading. The barest hint of a smile curved the corner of Bush’s lips, and he so wanted to cover it with his own mouth. His breath left him at the thought.

They started when a violent pounding rattled the door and a loud voice demanded they get out and let the girls continue their business. 

Horatio came back to reality with jarring force. He released Bush and slid away from him and off the bed. He pulled at his small clothes and breeches, hoping to hide his shaking hands with hasty movement. He did not acknowledge Bush doing the same behind him.

In minutes they staggered from the tavern into the waning activity of the streets. Bush trailed behind him a pace, quiet. Horatio wouldn’t slow his long stride even though he could hear Bush near to jogging to keep up, and in minutes they were at the door of the shabby inn they’d rented for the night. He regretted their shared accommodations now, but his coin was spent on their ill-advised adventure, and he had nothing to afford another room. 

Bush seemed as if he would speak, but stopped himself when Horatio shook his head.

“We should sleep. We have to be back to Renown early.” It was a weak excuse. They were due aboard by six bells in the forenoon watch, and they would both be awake long before then, even with the long night and swollen heads sure to come. 

He kicked off his boots and lay on the bed, not bothering to pull off his clothes. He turned to face the wall, back to Bush. He could sense the man hovering behind him, and was irrationally furious.

“Lie down and go to sleep,” he snapped, and was gratified to hear the other bed creak and the soft sounds of Bush settling himself after only a brief pause. It occurred to him in the silence that his words were like an order. Delivered to a superior, even off-duty, it was inexcusable. But Bush hadn’t said a word, only obeyed. The silence burned the back of his neck, scalding him with hurt and rebuke. He tucked his hands under his arms to warm them against the damp chill in the room that the thin wool blanket did not dispel. 

The still silence stretched forever, and his heart drummed loud enough he was sure it was audible. It wasn’t until he heard Bush’s gentle snore that he let his own exhaustion overtake him, and his irritation faded into guilt over his poor treatment of Bush. He did not deserve it. The sin lay with Horatio himself, for exposing the weak coward of a man that lived in his heart. 

Tomorrow they returned to their duties. There would be orders and rations and days ruled by eight bells and shifts on watch; Bush second lieutenant and him fifth, their hierarchy rigid and well-defined. 

Perhaps Bush would turn a blind eye to all of this, and shore leave would seem nothing but a fever dream. He was curiously disappointed by the idea.

Despite his fatigue, Horatio did not fall asleep for some time.


End file.
